


Let Me Love You

by Tony



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Arthur has a hot ex-boyfriend, Fluff, M/M, Schmoop, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-01
Updated: 2013-08-01
Packaged: 2017-12-22 02:21:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/907746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tony/pseuds/Tony
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eames finally has his Arthur after chasing him for years, only to find out that Arthur has a //type//. </p>
<p>Luckily, Eames isn't a jealous person. Doesn't mean he can't be possessive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let Me Love You

**Author's Note:**

> For Arthurintheafternoon. 
> 
> For visual aid purposes, [this is Pierre](http://arthurintheafternoon.tumblr.com/post/57043022090/incepship-incepship-chadleymacguff-i).

After months of outrageous flirting, casual touches, and even drunken kissing, Eames was finally able to get Arthur to agree to a relationship. Arthur had gone on and on about not wanting to ruin their tentative friendship, not wanting to have any more distractions during work, even though the sexual tension between them on the job was always thick enough to smother a puppy.

They were newlyweds at first- unable to even leave the room for fear they’d lose sight of each other. The bedroom had everything they needed: a warm bed and a drawer full of condoms. Eames had dreamt of this, of Arthur’s wiry body underneath him, writhing and bent in half, stretching and arching at ridiculous angles, sweaty and wanting nothing more than Eames’ prick shoved as deep as possible inside of him.

It took an entire two weeks for them to actually leave the house for more than five minutes.

They were in Toronto at the moment, in one of Arthur’s long-time flats. Eames had been here once or twice, to this place, when times were desperate and he needed a good hiding place. But now it almost felt welcoming, like his own home as well as Arthur’s.

They went out for a night on the town. Or rather, dinner and then a pub. Eames wanted to dance, to have the chance of groping Arthur in public, but it had been a bitch convincing Arthur to go. “Too many people,” he’d grumbled, to which Eames had replied, “that’s the point!”

Eames chose the most garish of clubs, with ridiculous blinking neon lights, fake palm trees outside, and some god awful pop song blaring out the doors. He’d grinned ear-to-ear, and even though Arthur’s eyes said _**no**_ , his mouth gave an exasperated _yes_.

It was warm inside, with bodies immediately bumping into them, squeezing past, half clothed and not so much dancing as just grinding on each other mindlessly. The energy had Eames lit up, his adrenaline pumping, and Arthur was doing a lovely job keeping the scowl off his face. Alcohol always did a lovely job of loosening Arthur up, and Eames made sure to head straight for the bar, order them two vegas bombs each, and have Arthur down his immediately.

“We could have stayed home and gotten drunk, this is pointless,” Arthur yelled against Eames’ ear as they began to move towards the crowd of dancing drunks.

“Mm, yes, but now that I have you, I want everyone to know,” Eames admitted shamelessly. The blush on Arthur’s face was priceless.

Arthur had dressed casually, with jeans and t-shirt, looking a good 6 years younger without his waistcoat and tie and perfectly-pressed slacks. Eames didn’t own any t-shirts, and had thrown on a deep purple dress shirt, rolled up to his sleeves. He liked the way it made Arthur’s eyes linger, the top few buttons undone, and the cuffs drawing perfect attention to his meaty forearms draping lazily over Arthur’s shoulders.

Eames leaned in and began to press soft kisses to Arthur’s chin, the corner of his mouth, his jaw. “Why did we wait so long to do this?” he asked, their bodies swaying gently and completely off-kilter with the upbeat pop music. When he didn’t get an answer, and Arthur’s hands suddenly left his hips, he looked up to see what the problem was.

“Shit,” Arthur hissed, the exasperation pouring back into his expression. He leaned in quickly to Eames, “This might be awkward. I’m sorry.”

Before Eames could ask, there was suddenly a man in the personal space- tall, dark, and oh-so handsome. He had a fruity looking drink in one hand and a big grin on his gorgeous face, perfectly-plucked eyebrows arched in affectionate interest. He was looking between Arthur and Eames, and then let one of his hands reach around Arthur’s shoulders in half of a hug.

“Arthur!” came a strongly accented purr. French, Eames identified. “Fancy meeting you ‘ere. Is this your date?”

Oh no. It’s an ex. Eames could tell from the uncomfortable set of Arthur’s shoulders, the apologetic smile, and the way the Frenchman leaned in so close to Arthur- familiarity in the way their bodies slotted against each other made it obvious they'd been lovers.

“Eames, yeah, he’s- I mean this is Eames, my uh. My partner. Boyfriend. Eames, this is- uh, Pierre.”

Eames almost felt sorry for Arthur. This was definitely awkward. He smiled and played nice, not the jealous type in the least. Arthur was with him now after all, not this arsehole. “Hello,” he politely greeted, just loud enough to be heard over the roar of terrible music. Pierre’s lips were pouty and red, turned up in a catty smile. His ears were pierced, sporting cheap rhinestones, and his haircut was the same as that of half the other men in the pub- shorn close on the sides, gelled tall up on top. The man had on a tank top, sheer and not meant to hide a damned thing. It stretched tight over his muscles and showed off his collar, his arms, rode up at the hips to show even more skin. He was covered in tattoos.

Pierre leaned in against Eames cheek and whispered loud enough for Arthur to hear, “I ‘ope you are taking care of my Arthur. ‘e can be a little ‘igh maintenance, as I am sure you will see.” He pulled back and grinned between the two of them, his hips swaying sweetly with the music and his lips pulling a pink bendy-straw between them. Pierre slurped obnoxiously at his fruity drink and Eames immediately hated the pompous bastard.

“We’ve worked together for years now, I assure you I know just how high maintenance he can be,” Eames drawled. “He only just recently let me start fucking him after almost a damned decade of chasing after his perfect arse.”

Pierre’s smile stretched wider, and he raised his eyebrows at Arthur as if to ask if that information were true. He licked his lips and returned his piercing blue gaze to Eames. “You’re a lucky man, Mr. Eames. Be sure to keep your eye on this one, or someone might snatch ‘im up again. Arthur-” he turned and pressed a kiss to each of Arthur’s cheeks ( _bloody fucking twat_ ), “We will ‘ave to go out some time. It was nice seeing you.”

And then Pierre was gone, and Arthur was butting his head into Eames’ shoulder, grumbling a string of apologies as Eames’ hand slid around his waist tightly. “Can we go home now?” he whined into Eames’ ear.

Eames snorted. “And let that tart think he won? We came out here to have fun, darling. I’m not going to let that French bastard ruin my time. Now come here and let me stick my tongue down your throat so everyone can see how much you love it.”

Arthur flushed but didn’t fight it, let his arms wrap around Eames’ waist as they kissed deeply, the rest of the world melting away and leaving just the two of them on the dance floor. Eames' tongue plundered in every sense of the word as one hand cupped the base of Arthur’s skull. He licked at Arthur’s teeth, the roof of his mouth, under his tongue, sloppy and wet and possessive. Arthur shuddered when Eames pulled off and went to his neck, sucking a dark bruise onto his pale skin.

“You’re terrible, you know that?” Arthur croaked, half hard in his too-tight jeans, rocking against the body crushed against his own.

Eames palmed the erection in Arthur’s jeans, knowing that there were too many people around, too many bodies closed in on them for anyone to care. “I am, I’m terrible, but I’m yours Arthur, so why don’t you make me better?” It didn’t really make sense, but Eames was drunk on lust, tipsy on rum, and desperate to see Arthur cum in his jeans.

“Eames, God, not here, everyone’s gonna see, son of a- ohhh, don’t stop, okay okay!”

It was thrilling, getting Arthur off like this on a dance floor, in the middle of a room full of drunk twinks. Eames knew it was juvenile and lewd, something a couple of teenagers would do, but he felt brash and giddy, horny and maybe just a little jealous knowing that Arthur had been fucked by that asshole Pierre ( _seriously, who is named Pierre anymore?_ ) long before he’d gotten there. It had taken years for Eames to even realize that Arthur was gay, that maybe he could have a chance with Arthur, that maybe he could be good enough for Arthur. And while Eames been dawdling, Arthur had let himself be ravaged by other men- men who surely couldn’t please Arthur as much as he could.

Lost deep in his own possessive thoughts, Eames was suddenly pulled out of his reverie when Arthur dug his nails into his arm, shuddered, and whimpered into his ear, “Stop, stop, it’s too much, fuck!”

Arthur had cum, sticky and wet in his jeans. Eames looked like the cat who’d caught the canary.

“You asshole,” growled Arthur, but there was no malice there. “Now I need to go home and clean up. Come on, you- you God damned brute.”

Eames laughed and kissed Arthur’s mouth, and even though he was hard, he knew he could wait until they got back to Arthur’s place to get off. He'd had his fun.

They left, and later, when they were kissing and groping at the threshold to Arthur’s bedroom, Arthur asked, “You weren’t jealous of that asshole, were you? I mean he’s- he’s an ex, I never actually loved him. He’s- he could never be _you_.”

Eames flicked a thumb over one of Arthur’s nipples and growled into his mouth, “I’m about to fuck you. Can we not talk about that git right this moment?”

Arthur laughed shyly. “No, no, I- I brought it up because- well, he’s big, he’s got- he’s got muscles and tattoos and an accent-”

“Seriously darling. Losing my erection here.”

And then Arthur took hold of Eames’ face, both spidery hands at Eames’ jaw, and he looked in Eames’ eyes as he spoke, “I dated him because he reminded me of you. The tattoos and the attitude and the accent- I couldn’t have you, so I had him. There were others- with tattoos. And muscles. And all that stuff. They were a substitute for **you**.”

A lump suddenly found itself in Eames’ throat and he stared into big brown eyes, hands steady on slim hips. “Oh, sweetheart. Why would you ever even think you couldn’t have me? You know I was yours for the taking- any time you wanted.

Arthur ducked his head shyly, cheeks flushed deep red. “I didn’t know. I didn’t want… I didn’t want to ruin what we had. I didn’t want something to happen, and then it not work out, and we never work together ever again. I didn’t want to lose you over a stupid crush.”

Eames couldn’t help it- he laughed. “Oh, Arthur,” he said, and leaned in to kiss that pouting cupid’s bow. “This is why I love you. Don’t ever change. You’re just too bloody perfect.”

Grinning, Arthur almost replied but he was stopped with a kiss. Eames picked him up easily, sliding his hands under Arthur’s thighs, and carried the brunette to his bed. Arthur snickered as he was dropped, and wrapped his arms around Eames’ huge shoulders when the forger fell on top of him.

“Never. I’m all yours now.”


End file.
